Sure enough, after traversing a bare, rocky stretch of road, we found that the tracks no longer showed ahead of us. The man had taken advantage of the hard ground to turn off. Pulling up our ponies, we both jumped to the ground once more, and going back a short distance, we made a cast on the western side of the road. In a few minutes Joe called out:
“Here we are, Phil! See! The wheel touched the edge of this little sandy spot, and if you look ahead about forty yards you’ll see where it ran over an ant-hill. It seems as though he were heading for our cañon. Do you think that’s likely?”
“Yes,”I replied. “I think it is very likely. There is one place where he can get down, you remember, and then, by following up the bed of the stream for a short distance he will come to a draw which will lead him to the top of the Second Mesa—just the place he would make for. For, to any one knowing the country, as he evidently does, there would be a thousand good hiding-places in which to stow away ten small sacks of ore—you might search for years and not find them.”
“Yes,”said Joe. “But there’s the horse and cart, Phil. How will he dispose of them?”
“Oh, that will be easy enough. He would tumble the cart into some cañon, perhaps, turn loose the horse, and be back in Sulphide before morning. But come on, Joe. We really mustn’t waste any more time; it’s getting on for six now.”
It was fortunate we did not delay any longer, for we found my father anxiously pacing up and down the room, wondering what was keeping us. Without heeding our explanation at the moment, he hastily tore open the letter we had brought, read it through, and then stepping to the foot of the stairs, called out:
“Get your things on, mother. We must start at once. The train leaves at seven forty-five. There’s no time to lose.”
Turning to us, he went on: “Boys, I have to go to Denver. I may be gone five or six days—can’t tell how long. I leave you in charge. If you can get at the plowing, go ahead; but I’m afraid you won’t have the chance. If I’m not mistaken, there’s another rain coming—wettest season I remember. Joe, run out and hitch up the big bay to the buckboard. Phil, you will have to drive down to San Remo with us and bring back the rig. Go in and get some supper now; it’s all ready on the table.”
In ten minutes we were off, I sitting on a little trunk at the back of the carriage, explaining to my father over his shoulder as we drove along the events of the last two days, and how it was we had taken so much time coming down from Sulphide.
“It certainly does look as though the thief had come down this way,” said he; “and though we are not personally concerned in the matter, I think one of you ought to ride up to Sulphide again on Monday and give your information. Hunt up Tom Connor and tell him. And I believe”—he paused to consider—“yes, I believe I would tell Yetmore, too. I’m sure he is not concerned in this robbery; and I’m even more sure that if he was a party to the blowing up of that house, he never intended any harm to you. Yes, I think I’d tell Yetmore. It will prove to him that we bear him no ill-will, and may have a good effect.”